Chapter 100

[ 785 words ]

One thing at a time

100: 100.

One thing at a time Barric

“She spent my whole life making sure I knew I wasn’t enough. Wasn’t wanted enough. Good enough. For every good moment, there were ten bad. Hell, she chased me away.” Her breathing stutters.

“And then she…” Aria presses the heels of her hands against her eyes.

“She dies for me.”

My wolf whines low inside me.

I want blood.

Want vengeance.

Want someone to blame for the pain carving her apart.

But grief doesn’t work like that.

The enemy we face is the one who lives inside ourselves.

The memories, the lost hopes, the what-ifs, and the closure we have to give up in the face of the inevitability.

She looks up at me, brows turned in, and there’s so much confusion in her expression it nearly splits me in half.

“How am I supposed to feel?” she asks quietly.

“Am I angry?

Am I sad?

Am I relieved?

I spent years wishing she’d disappear, and now she’s gone, and I can’t stop thinking maybe I misunderstood her.

That I missed something all these years.”

“I can’t tell you how to feel.

No one can.” I keep my voice soothing, brushing her hair away from her face.

“You know, my mother died giving birth to me.

And my father was a hard man.

Nothing I did was ever right.

He pushed me to be smarter, stronger, faster.

He taught me how to control my feelings, to never let anyone get close enough to hurt me.

It wasn’t until he was on his deathbed that I learned everything he did was how he expressed his love.

In his mind, he loved me enough to pull away to teach me how to be so unbreakable I would never be in the position he was when he lost his true mate.”

“You think she did it to protect me,” Aria says.

“…why she died for me.”

The question in her voice devastates me.

She’s asking for more than answers about why her mother behaved the way she did; she is asking for permission to love and be angry with her.

To ebb and flow on the line between pain and remorse for feeling it.

“I think that sometimes people do things because they’re scared and want to protect us. I think that love can make people okay with being the villain of our story if they believe it will keep us safe.” I press my forehead to her, locking onto her gaze.

“That sometimes they break the things they care about because they’re broken themselves.”

She moves her head to the crook of my neck, nuzzling her face against my scent gland and taking the comfort she needs from it.

Her breath brushes against my neck, making my cock twitch.

“I feel guilty for being angry.”

“You don’t owe grief perfection, baby,” I tell her softly.

“You can hate what she did to you, and still mourn her.”

A tear slips free.

The small bead of moisture slides against my skin, and I can feel her consternation with herself through the bond.

This is too public, I realize.

Aria would never want to show her vulnerability in a room full of people.

“How about we get you showered and fed so you can rest,” I whisper to her.

Something soft and warm enters her expression.

“Yeah, sounds good.”

I stand, hoisting her up with me and wrapping her legs around my waist.

“Hey,” she protests.

“Shh, just let me have this,” I hold her closer.

She gives a faux huff, needing to keep up her ornery facade, and I let her.

I make my way through the infirmary, nodding at our band as we go.

Sometimes being Beta sucks, because it means that I need to stay behind in certain battles to lead the pack in Ronan’s absence.

This time, it meant I was the only one well enough to take care of our mate.

My wolf was smug with the privilege.

We will wash our mate, then feast on her until she is too sated to be sad.

I snort at the simplicity of his plan, even if it has merit.

As we near the door, Aria’s head turns to Hazel, where Thomas is healing her beneath Liam’s…well, watchful is to tame a term for the way he glares at the healer’s hands.

Aria’s eyes hold another emotion, broken in a way different from the sorrow of her mother.

Complicated emotion flashes over her face.

Pain.

Betrayal.

Confusion.

“Not right now,” I murmur into her ear.

Because Aria already carries too much.

She tears her gaze away quickly.

One thing at a time, my wolf says.

I make it to the bathing pools in minutes.

The steam from the natural springs warms my skin as I gently put Aria down.

The scratches, dirt, and dried blood, her blood, are driving my wolf crazy.

He won’t calm down until we can replace the scent of gore with our own.

Until we can see, smell, and feel that she is safe.

“Come, baby,” I say, “Let’s get you clean.”

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